Fairytale of 221B Baker Street
by Roma Blackadder
Summary: Christmas preparation with Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Unfortunatly, Holmes is not a christmas person.


Sherlock Holmes hadn't spent Christmas with another person since he was 16 and even then he had spent most of the day walled up in his room because he preferred his own company to that of others. He'd also never really done presents because they seemed like a waste of time; you give someone a thoughtless gift which then gets discarded or lost within months if not weeks. Sherlock wasn't one who could be described as a Christmas person but this year was different. This year he had John who was definitely a Christmas person. The idea dawned on Holmes about mid-August (09:07am 17th August to be precise) that he would need to make an effort this year, for Watson.

John started planning for Christmas the day after Bonfire night. There were many things to plan: food, presents, decorations, cards, parties… He knew things were going to be different this year because Sherlock wasn't exactly a festive person but maybe he could get him involved a little.

Watson had a task ahead of him.

Sherlock didn't notice the invasion of Christmas until the tree went up and he only noticed that because it was blocking the bookcase slightly. He waited for Watson to come home.

"What is this?" demanded the impatient intellectual as soon as the door was opened.

"A Christmas tree, Sherlock. Lots of people have them…" John went straight through to the kitchen to unpack the groceries. He opened the fridge, "I thought I'd asked you to not put body parts in the fridge."

"Don't change the subject. Why do we have one?" Holmes had almost stamped his foot. He could sometimes be quite childish, an aftereffect of knowing he was somewhat cleverer than his contemporise at such a young age.

"Because it's nice. It's festive." John could see he wasn't getting through. "It's a social convention"

Sherlock sat back down grumbling about losing a battle. It was the first of many. Every little thing Watson did to bring the holiday in to their flat seemed to greatly upset Holmes even though he'd resolved to be lenient with John. It just all seemed more than unnecessary; they didn't need any of this.

Then there was one argument that promised to end it all.

"I just don't see why we bloody need all this" stated Sherlock in the quiet, frustrated voice that gave only a clue to what emotion he was feeling inside.

"Just because. Because it's what normal people do. It's what I do, Sherlock!" yelled Watson from the other side of the room because he couldn't stand to be near his flatmate. "Are you even listening to me? You're probably thinking about something else now, some high profile case that has popped in to your inbox. I'm trying to show you a part of me so we can at least say we know each other when people ask us! You're just too absorbed in yourself to be part of this, aren't you? It's like you don't even care about us. About me." The angry doctor had stabbed his partner in the back several times now and the last utterance was the twist of the dagger.

"Maybe I don't" Holmes hissed venomously back.

This took John completely by surprise. He had expected a retort but not for his lover, if that's what Sherlock was, to declare that he didn't care. The heartbreak was visible on John's face because, unlike his counterpart, he'd never been good at hiding his emotions. If his words had been a lone dagger then Sherlock's words had been a thousand long swords that corkscrewed into his body.

"I need some air" The wearied line of shock and anger slipped from John's mouth as he pulled on his coat and left in a great hurry. He chased down the stairs, almost tripping, in his anxiety to get away from the flat, away from Sherlock. John had promised himself that he would never cry in front of his fierce flatmate and so once he had stormed out of the safe 50 metre radius from 221B, the tears began to trickle from his love-torn eyes. They were quickly dismissed by the sleeve of a foliage green duffel coat but were swiftly replaced.

Holmes watched out the window as his companion fled in to the maze of the backstreets of London. He nursed his wrath for as long as he could. Why should John just swan in here and ruin the way things were? Why must he insist on changing the satisfactory life that had been before? It was… well… satisfactory! It had suited Holmes' needs. But now he needed more than he had previously. He needed John to come back. He needed to show that he cared about them being an 'item', as John might call it, that Sherlock cared about him. What did John like? Tea. What else? Christmas shows. What else… yes, that would come later.

Watson's phone buzzed three times in his coat pocket, he'd received a text. 'Come home. S' John sighed. He wasn't angry any more, just upset. It was cold and the pull of the indoors was almost overwhelming but he was going to make Sherlock wait. John dawdled home, stopping to look in a few shop windows. He unlocked the door and stood, shocked, in the doorway. All the Christmas lights were on, It's A Wonderful Life was gliding across the TV screen and Sherlock was on the sofa holding two cups of tea. His head turned to his returning flatmate and held out a cup to him.

"What's this?" questioned Watson suspiciously.

"Tea." Holmes stated. "For you."

"Thank you" said John, slipping off his coat and making his way over to the sofa. He took the cup gratefully and started watching the film. Sherlock draped a blanket round them both and they sat in silence, sipping their drinks, for a while. Once they had both finished, Holmes could not keep still, he never really knew how to "make up" after an argument because he knew that he was almost always right. His eyes kept flicking to John who was still watching the movie. It was now or never, a spontaneous moment that had been planned in advance.

Sherlock crawled over to John and pushed him beneath the intellectual so Holmes had all the control. Surprise registered on Watson's face, he hadn't been expecting this at all. They stared at each other for a moment.

"I'm sorry" said Sherlock and with the words leaving his lips, he kissed his lover. A kiss in which he tried to pack all that John meant to him, everything he had done that changed him; that he cared for him more than anyone else in the world.

There have been 5 great kisses in history and this one blew them all away.


End file.
